Not close
by ILM
Summary: They aren't as close as everybody thinks. Morgan/Garcia, s3
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone *waves* - my first CM fic, so I'm just experimenting with the characters for now... This is set during season 3's 'Penelope'.**

**Disclaimer: they aren't mine. Characters suffer whenever I get hold of them!**

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They aren't as close as everybody thinks they are.

As he follows her into her apartment, his arms poised to catch her, she realises he's never been here before. She's never invited him; not through fear or shame or even a need to keep her space private, it's just that she's never opened her mouth to ask him over.

Maybe she's worried that the invite would be misconstrued, that he would think she was trying to elevate their connection beyond flirtatious banter – but no, she thinks as she hears his low chuckle, he wouldn't presume that. Profiler he may be, but one of his characteristics remains a basic acceptance of words for what they are. He told her once that he spent so much of his time analysing other people's behaviour that he tried hard not to scrutinise his 'outside' life.

_So why?_ she wonders, as his eyes slide around the walls, taking in all the little touches she has introduced over the past few years. He _fits_ here, into her purple surroundings, his body as relaxed as he can be for fear she will suddenly weaken. She can still see the slight twitch of his arms every time she moves, ready to halt her fall if she falters.

Maybe it's because he fits too well, she thinks, reluctantly. Maybe it's because it's too easy to imagine him here all the time, his long form stretched across her couch as they argue about who gets control of the television. She briefly thinks about his hand reaching out to tug her to her feet at bedtime and quickly squashes her wandering mind.

No, they're not as close as everybody thinks; because that's too big a risk to take right now.

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**It's been a while since I've written anything so short! I'd like to know what people think; I'm finding the humour of these two difficult to tap in to so I went with a slightly more thoughtful route.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the lovely welcome to a new fandom! A couple of people asked if I was continuing it and as inspiration hit me I decided I'd have a go.**

**Disclaimer: they aren't mine. Characters suffer whenever I get hold of them!**

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It's a week later, the point when she realises she's too used to him coming home to her, that she tries to prod him into going home. She's too subtle and he laughs at her. His lips land on her forehead – something else she's becoming too used to – and he tells her that he'll leave when she can stretch up to get the teabags from the middle shelf of the cupboard.

He leaves her two teabags next to the kettle every morning. Just like he makes her coffee and brings it in to her in bed before he leaves for work.

"Hon, I bet Clooney misses you," she drops in casually, as he starts to make dinner on their eighth night.

He knows where everything is; two days ago he found a casserole dish she didn't know she had. She thinks it might have been her grandmother's.

He just chuckles as he chops an onion, shaking his head. "That dog loves anyone who'll feed him and scratch him behind the ears."

"Like his owner," she can't help throwing back, unable to stop a smile.

He leans closer, a smirk patterning his features. "Not behind the ears, honey."

She swipes at him playfully, nearly overbalancing from the stool she's perched on. He reaches out to catch her, his hand settling on her waist as his other arm wraps around her.

"You steady?"

"Yup," she answers, rearranging her skirt. She still can't centre herself very easily if she falters.

He squeezes her waist briefly – and carefully, even though her surgery was higher – before he returns to his chopping board. His hands move quickly, finishing the onion and starting on a pepper. She had never known he loves to cook until a week ago.

He lays the knife down for a moment to turn to her. "I'm not going anywhere," he says, seriously. "You can get used to having a guard dog till you can manage on your own, my hard-headed girl."

"I can manage already and you have a house with a perfectly good bed in it," she protests, already wondering if she'll ever win this argument. "It can't be doing your back any good, sleeping on my couch."

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, making her laugh even before he speaks. "That an invitation into your bed, baby girl? Cos I don't think your delectable self would be safe from wandering hands if it is."

"Who said I wanted to be safe?" she flirts back, the words so easy between them both.

He laughs as he adds the vegetables to the pan. "Topic closed, okay? I'm staying till you're good as brand spanking new, so get it through your head."

She can't resist the opportunity. "Sugar, if there's spanking involved you can bet on staying a while."

He throws a tea towel at her in mock reprimand; she reaches to catch it too abruptly and winces as her body reminds her not to abuse it.

He sighs, clearly triumphant in proving his point. "And _that_ is precisely why I'm staying."

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**Still trying to find my feet around here - it would be nice to know what people think! Should I keep it going?**


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